Or maybe he was, when he faced the question squarely. Speaking out would be like putting a match to a pile of gunpowder and he simply didn't want to do it. The moment he did, people would die. But Evelina was probably right in that war would come one way or another. Informing Keating now would tip the scales in favor of those close to him, and his heart said to put them first.

Armed servants opened the double doors before he reached them, bowing as he strode past. Even without his father's t.i.tle, Tobias had status there. As the Gold King's maker, he was in and out of the building several times a week. Despite his sour mood, he gave them a friendly nod as he pa.s.sed. They probably didn't enjoy groveling any more than he did. Perhaps because of that status, or because he was civil, they never searched him for a weapon. The Webley hid under his coat once more.

Inside, the black marble walls of the cavernous foyer ate the wan sunlight. More armed guards stood at strategic points, their expressions shuttered in deliberate neutrality. These Tobias also knew by sight and pa.s.sed without stopping, earning slight bows from a few. The deference soothed his mood, and his step sounded gratifyingly loud in the empty s.p.a.ce-rifle shots wrapped in shoe leather.

Keating's offices were on the second floor, up a grand sweep of stairs. Here the decor changed from stark grandeur to bureaucratic opulence. Gaslights flared in amber globes, casting a sulfurous glow over dark green walls. Bleak Highland landscapes-with many portraits of hairy cows-only added to the gloomy atmosphere.

The door to the Gold King's suite was ajar, his secretary absent. All the guards, it seemed, were stationed on the ground floor, because there was no one to announce Tobias's arrival. Impatient, he barged through to Keating's office. He'd barely made it to the doorway when a voice a.s.sailed him.

"Ah, Roth, there you are," the Scarlet King said jovially. He was lounging in Keating's favorite leather armchair, legs crossed and a lit cheroot in one hand. "How pleasant to see you. How fare your lovely sisters?"

Surprise made Tobias pull up sharply. He reached for his gun before he knew what he was doing. "Where's Keating?"

Reading held up a gloved hand, the cheroot trapped between two fingers. Smoke curled lazily in the gaslight, somehow as insolent as the Scarlet King's smile. "I wouldn't pull that if I were you. I might misinterpret your intentions."

"Where's Keating? I thought he was waiting for me. Why are you in his private office?" And where was the secretary who was supposed to be guarding the door? Tobias's fingers lingered on the b.u.t.t of the gun, twitching with tension.

"He is not here," Reading said very distinctly. "I arranged a small ruse to bring you here because I felt it was time that you and I had another private word."

"I gave you my answer. What could we possibly have to say to one another?"

Reading gave him a caustic look. "I know Keating well enough to be certain he pulls your strings as much as he does anyone else's. That is his nature, rather like that tiresome fable about the scorpion and the frog. Please, sit." He indicated another chair.

Tobias sat and waited. "What do you want now?"

"When we talked before, you made a brave show of loyalty, and I respect that. I see your worth, Mr. Roth. But to be perfectly honest, I also saw that you were no happier in your situation than I am in my alliance. As peculiar as it may sound, seeing that despair in your eyes gave me hope. It is time we made common cause."

Tobias was nonplussed. "I refused you and all but threw you and your drunken hangers-on out of my father's party and now you want to be friends?"

Reading laughed. "No, Mr. Roth, not friends. I don't make friends. Call it collaborators of convenience, if you must put a label on it."

"I think not."

"Fair enough. Let me prove myself to you."

He watched curiously as the Scarlet King pulled a portfolio into his lap. It had been sitting beside the chair. Now he could see that it was made of fine Spanish leather, the lock a complicated affair that looked like two clasping hands made from chased silver. Reading took a key from his watch chain and inserted it between the hands. The tiny fingers opened with a faint click, and suddenly the two hands were open, palms up. He lifted the cover and extracted a sheaf of doc.u.ments. They looked stark white against the gray of his fine kid gloves.

"What is that?" Tobias asked.

An amused smile curled Reading's lips. "I'm sure you've spent rather a long time with your nose inside that rogue airship. I came across these plans and thought they might be of interest."

Curious, Tobias took them from Reading's hand. They were indeed the plans, detailing every measurement in neatly labeled pencil. Tobias began thumbing through the stack of pages, pulling off his right-hand glove to flip the pages faster.

Reading watched with detached fascination, his blue eyes almost sleepy. "Even from the plans it is not clear who deployed the thing, but I can tell you its origins. I paid a fair price for those scribbles."

"Spicer Industries," Tobias said, his thumb stroking the edge of the page. "Their man of business purchased the logic device from Italy. I have the paperwork, but even if I didn't, the evidence is plain to see. It employs the same principles as a machine for mathematical calculation in the Green Queen's offices-"

"Ah, yes, darling Jane's little engine," the Scarlet King interrupted, clearly annoyed that Tobias had already solved the puzzle. "Crashing bore once she gets on about it. And I think you'll find the steering has features in common with those carts that rush the post around the underground rails."

"I know. But why did the Green Queen do it?" Tobias looked up from the plans. "Of all of you on the Steam Council, why her?"

"Why does Jane Spicer do anything? d.a.m.ned if I know. Becoming a widow and a.s.suming the mantle of the Green Queen was the most exciting thing to ever happen to that vile woman. All she's ever cared about is her bank and her army of clerks, lawyers, and insurance men. Only she would fail to see the humor in making her vehicle of attack a blood-sucking bug."

Mind reeling, Tobias pa.s.sed the papers back to Reading, who tucked them back into their leather case. "But why are you telling this to me, and not claiming the credit of discovery for yourself? Surely my a.s.sistance can't be worth that much."

The Scarlet King's eyes grew cold. "It's not. I might have forgiven you for treating me like a common lackey at your father's party-I am perfectly serious about the good we could do for each other-but if my offer is not tempting enough for you, well, there's not much I can do about that."

"You forgive me?" Tobias raised his eyebrows. "For objecting to your behavior?"

The Scarlet King rose from his chair, his spine military-straight. "Your betters know to show respect. I'm not some brewer's son you can toss into the street. Not anymore."

Rising as well, Tobias looked him in the eye. He saw a man not that many years older than he was-clever, good-looking, and strong-but for the first time, he also saw the uncertainty of someone who had scrabbled his way to social heights no one had thought possible. One who didn't think about the responsibility that came with power. "There's more to wearing big boots than demanding obedience."

Reading backhanded him across the face. Caught by surprise, Tobias only managed to lessen the blow, not dodge it completely. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Reading!"

"I don't forgive you. If you had accepted my offer, I might have spared you. And you should have. I've given you Jane Spicer. I couldn't have delivered the old bag any more neatly than if I'd put her on a platter with an apple in her mouth."

That was a picture Tobias could have lived without. "Spare me how?"

Reading clicked the portfolio shut. "No doubt you'll tell Keating about the plans?"

"I already intended to." His words sounded calm, telling nothing of the struggle he'd had to make that decision.

"Fine. Jane took the first shot at him, but like so many of her plans, it just didn't stick. Now that he knows it's Green that started the fight, he'll be obligated to follow up." Reading gave a greasy smile. "Don't think we haven't antic.i.p.ated that."

Tobias was utterly gobsmacked, too stunned to speak. A warning hung in the air, like a cry echoing in the jungle. And then a flutter of excitement started low in his belly. It wasn't hope or pleasure, just the knowledge that something unexpected had just happened. "You're trying to start this war! You're not Keating's ally. You've double-crossed him!"

"Why not?" Reading asked. "He's been plotting against the rest of us for years."

"And you're sacrificing Green to do it."

"Why not? Would you want to put up with that woman?" He put on his top hat and started toward the door. Tobias followed him toward the front office, doing his best to put the different pieces of the conversation together. The Scarlet King paused and donned a long, stylish coat of dove gray. It fell in thick folds, too heavy for the weather, but it was the last stare in Bond Street fashion.

Tobias stood in the doorway between the two rooms, not sure what to do. He was a maker, not a schemer like Keating or the Scarlet King. He didn't know what the next move should be. "If you're trying to provoke Keating by selling out Green, why try to lure me to your side?" And whom haven't you betrayed in this scenario? This is worse than a Jacobean play.

"I came with two plans." Reading smiled, teeth white beneath his mustache. "Option one, you treated me with respect. Then together, we might have decided the best use for this information about Green. Option two, you did not. You will tell Keating what you found out. Either way, I win."

"Either way, I would tell Keating, so I don't see what the benefit to me would be of licking your boots."

"Whether you know it or not, you're one of Keating's greatest a.s.sets."

Something in the way the Scarlet King spoke reminded him of Bucky's words. The longer he stayed with Keating, the greater the distance from his old life. Keating kept him close for a reason. Surely I'm not that brilliant, am I?

Then Scarlet went on. "Because you are valuable, if you're not on my side, I can't let Keating keep you. A sad inevitability, to be sure." He raised the portfolio. "Always go with Italian when it comes to contact poisons. They've made an art of undetectable death. I knew you would fall for the plans like a kitten chasing a string. Too bad you took your glove off, Mr. Roth."

He's poisoned me. Tobias grabbed the customized Webley from beneath his coat, the cool weight pleasing in his hand. Metal he understood, the cause and effect of gear and spring. It was like holding a piece of rationality in the midst of chaos. Suddenly, he had power again.

Still, he knew the fit of bravado wouldn't last forever. He met Reading's eyes and held them, remembering how the man had undressed Imogen with his gaze. How he'd come far too close to Poppy. Tobias allowed his hate to seep out in his expression.

Reading smirked. "Did you know the secret of these red waistcoats? There is very fine chain mail inside them, a very particular steel alloy that I've developed. No bullet will penetrate it. My hat and coat are similarly protected, so you'll have to be a very good shot to get me between the eyes, even at this distance. You don't look the type, and I don't think that Webley is up for fancy shooting. Put away your gun, Mr. Roth, it's melodramatic even for you."

The Scarlet King clearly hadn't noticed the Webley was customized-hard to see since Tobias had done the job with a view to minimal size and weight. Tobias thumbed a switch and the gun made a faint click, switching over to the aether setting, but the Scarlet King didn't even blink.

"What did you poison me with?" Tobias's heart was thundering, but the emotion seemed distant. He should at least be sad or angry about being murdered, but he wasn't. Clearly, he was losing his mind. Or maybe he was coming to his senses. He couldn't rid the Empire of the entire Steam Council, but he could get rid of one viper.

"If you'd been a better friend, I might have told you. But since you weren't I'll simply tell you there is no antidote, so don't waste your time on useless questions."

"If there was, would you tell me?"

"No."

"How long does it take?"

Reading's blue eyes were cold and reptilian. "Ah, that's the interesting thing about it. A day. A month. Dosage is so unpredictable in cases like this."

Tobias couldn't think of anything else to ask. So he pulled the trigger. The one thing Reading hadn't calculated on was that he was a crack shot, and hitting him at this distance was a toddle.

The aether blast hit with a vicious smack. Reading's skull and brains splashed across the office like a thick, viscous rain. The body toppled backward into the door, sliding down to leave a wide red slash of blood.

Tobias watched with detachment, vaguely aware that there had been a loud noise in the room. The air stank of spent aether and shredded flesh.

And then in slow, inexorable increments, horror combed chill, dead fingers up Tobias's nape as he slowly realized what had happened. I just killed a member of the Steam Council.

Tobias wondered what that would mean for the Empire, and then decided he didn't want to know. If there hadn't been a war before, there would certainly be one now. And I did it.

What it meant for him was easy to discern. He was in this so deep he was never getting out. Maybe it was just as well he was going to die.

That last thought opened the floodgates of panic.

London, October 2, 1889.

HILLIARD HOUSE.

6:35 p.m. Wednesday.

ALICE ROTH MOUNTED THE BROAD STAIRS OF HILLIARD House with her head high and her heart in her throat. This wasn't a social call. She'd been summoned-and by her father, which was worrisome. Why was her father demanding she come here, to Lord and Lady Bancroft's house?

Furthermore, the tone of his note had been sharp, and that had raised her ire. It was beyond annoying that her father could snap his fingers and she-a married woman, a mother, the wife of a steam baron's maker-didn't have the courage to tell him to go polish his gears. But Jasper Keating wasn't a man one disobeyed lightly, and though she had always loved her father, she'd seen a side of him in the last year that made her afraid.

The door opened before she'd even reached the top step, a footman bowing her in. "Mrs. Roth."

Even after months of marriage, the name still made her blink. "Would you please let the family know that I have arrived?"

"At once, madam."

Madam sounds so old. Alice fidgeted, smoothing the trim on her smart green dress. She had just returned from walking with her son and his nursemaid before she was summoned. At least she had been dressed to go out. But what is this about? And where is Tobias? Her hands were growing damp inside her gloves.

She heard a young voice cry in disgust, and then feet pounded up the curving oak stairway that loomed just out of Alice's sight. Poppy. She smiled to herself. The girl brought a touch of drama to every occasion. Then Bigelow, the butler, appeared and intoned, "This way, madam."

If Bigelow himself has come to fetch me, this is a grand occasion indeed. She suspected her father's hand in it. He liked a touch of staging to set a serious mood. Alice followed, keyed up to the point that the tip of her nose had gone numb. But she was too well trained to let it show. The doors of the small drawing room stood open, and she entered without breaking stride, putting on her brightest smile.

It was a beautiful room, with a tall bay window and a grand piano in one corner where Imogen used to sit and play. The furniture had been recovered with one of those bold Kelmscott designs-big pink flowers on a green and wine background.

The first person she saw was her mother-in-law. "Good evening, Lady Bancroft."

The older woman rose, taking her hands. She looked tired and drawn. "Alice, my dear, I am so delighted to see you. But where is our grandson?"

"Down for a nap with his nurse."

"That's all very interesting," came her father's voice from behind her, "but please sit down, Alice. There is business to discuss."

She knew that tone of voice, though it was softer with her than it would have been with anyone else. He was in a dour frame of mind. Alice turned to where he was enthroned in a large wing chair and curtsied. "Father."

Alice made one last curtsy, this time to Lord Bancroft. He half rose and gave her a cold bow. She wasn't his favorite person, but then the feeling was mutual. "It is not my opinion," Lord Bancroft said dryly, "that including the young Mrs. Roth in this discussion is wise. We require objective viewpoints, and it is not reasonable to ask a new wife to decide such pressing family matters."

Alice found a seat and realized it was just the four of them. Family matters? "What happened? Where is my husband?"

"There has been an accident, my dear," said Lady Bancroft in a faint voice.

They all looked at one another in a way that said that had been an understatement. Alice bounced out of her chair again, heart skittering with alarm. "Where is he?"

"Sit down, Alice," said her father curtly. "We need to make some decisions."

But Lady Bancroft said "Upstairs" at the same time, raising her hand to catch Alice's and keep her there.

She was already out the door, racing up the staircase, past the longcase clock and up to the bedrooms. Something had happened. Was he shot? Downed by some dread illness? Had this bizarre family of his finally driven him foaming mad? She hoped Poppy was there, because they had been allies in the past. If anyone would tell Alice what was going on, it would be her.

But the hallway was empty. Imogen's door was shut, her sister-in-law no doubt still in her unending sleep. Then she heard a noise-the rattle of drawer pulls and the sc.r.a.pe of wood on wood. Her steps quickened again, and she was at Tobias's old bedroom door.

Alice stopped, her skirts swinging with the sudden cessation of movement. She could hear Tobias moving. She knew his breathing, the way he'd stop to think halfway through a motion. What's going on? Why aren't you downstairs with the others?

Her chest squeezed with tension. The door was open a crack, and she pushed until it drifted open on silent hinges. And there he was, rummaging in his dresser, a large leather satchel open on the bed. He was packing.

"Tobias?" she cried, bewildered. "What are you doing?"

He stopped, his hands full of folded shirts and stockings-castoffs he'd left behind when he'd moved from his parents' house-and stared at her. His mouth was slightly open, as if he'd been about to speak but forgotten his words.

"Well?" she asked a little tartly.

"Alice," he finally said, and tossed what he'd been holding into the satchel. "Oh, Alice, I'm so sorry."

She would have preferred open arms and hot kisses. "What's going on?" she demanded, but this time kept her voice soft.